


Sometimes, I'd rather be dead, at least then I'm with you

by HistoriaGloria



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Chroma Conclave Arc, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief, Minor Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia, Mourning, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Percahlia can be read as platonic, Self-Loathing, Vague references to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoriaGloria/pseuds/HistoriaGloria
Summary: With all the jumping in and out of Whitestone during the attack of the Chroma Conclave, Percival is finding it difficult to come to terms with his broken home.It has been so difficult to take a moment to mourn those who he has lost.





	Sometimes, I'd rather be dead, at least then I'm with you

**Author's Note:**

> I have begun watching Vox Machina at an incredible speed and I'm about halfway through the Chroma Conclave arc and I just couldn't help but think about Percy taking a little time to think about all he has lost at the hands of the Briarwoods.
> 
> So, this is set around episode 64, before VM head to Ank'harel. 
> 
> I hope you all like it!
> 
> Title is from Amen by Amber Run which is a great song to listen to whilst reading this!

Percival hasn't been sleeping well. Being back in Whitestone has both comforted and unsettled him. There is a low feeling of dread that sits in the bottom of his stomach, writhing and curling in the way he was used to his anger twisting for so many years. But now, with the city acting as a makeshift base for the refugees against the Chroma Conclave attack, it makes his gut squirm and fills his nights with dreams. Whitestone has seen enough devastation to last it a life time, without the dragons finding it. Vorgual and his army flying over only a few days prior has only worsened this feeling, this constant dread, this hopelessness that whatever he did, he would never be able to keep his home safe, not even after they have ousted the Briarwoods. Finding Tiberius earlier that day has honestly not helped either. A part of Percival had been so ready to die destroying the Briarwoods, to give his life on that quest of vengeance. The fact that he lives, continues to draw breath whilst so many around him were dying feels so wrong. So many of the people who have died were better than him. He knows that he certainly deserved the fate that came to their dragonborn companion much more than Tiberius Stormwind himself did. He had told Vax that he wanted to die a different man to what he was now and part of him still intends to do that, to somehow make up for the many terrible mistakes that he has made. But now, he thinks, there are so many people who deserve to be alive more than him.

It's either very early morning or very late night when Percy gives up on sleep and slips quietly out of his bed in Castle Whitestone. He pauses at the window for a moment, staring up at the darkened sky, his vision slightly fuzzy without his glasses. It’s cold outside and clear, letting him see up to all of the stars glittering against the expanse of darkness. And suddenly, Percival feels so _lonely_. His hands shaking a little, he picks up his glasses and slips them on, then pulls his faded blue coat over his sleepwear, his hands lingering on the detail. This coat had always meant a lot to him. And, quietly, so quietly that a tiny part of his mind chimes in that Vax’ildan would be proud of him, Percy creeps out of his room and down the corridor housing the rest of Vox Machina.

Memories continue to assault him as he quietly paces the corridors of the castle. There, the room of his tutor, who had met his end there on the end of Percy’s bullets. There, the rooms of his siblings. He pauses here for a second, outside of Cassandra’s room, knowing that his youngest sister was there, sleeping safely. But Percy keeps moving. The Briarwoods had destroyed most of what had remained of his family when they had taken Whitestone, tearing down their crests and their paintings and their memory as much as they could.

But Percival knows that they had not destroyed everything. He and Cassandra have, in what little free time either of them had had since then, been repairing what they could. And in one of their recent little excursions to Whitestone, Percy had found a book. A history book, detailing the crests of Whitestone and small portraits of the ancestral families.

And right now, that is what he wants.

His footsteps as soft as he can make them, he makes his way into the library within the castle, which is abandoned considering the fact that it is the middle of the night. He heads inside, running his fingertips along the spines until he finds the book he is searching for: _Ancestral Families of Whitestone_. Percy isn’t surprised the Briarwoods overlooked it, it’s a fairly new tome but it is not something would have been used. It’s incredibly dry and dull, more of a record than it was of any actual use.

But it is new enough.

With immediate precision, Percival flicks the book open to the final few pages at the family tree of the de Rolo family, illustrated with hand drawn portraits of each of the members. His eyes skim, uninterested, over his ancestors down to his own family. As he brings up his hand to stroke over the pencil images of his family, he can see the heavy tremble in his hand. There is a lump in his throat, and he can feel the tears pricking at his eyes. Mourning his family is something he hasn’t taken time to do. For so long, with Orthax’s urging, he was so focused on revenge that taking even a moment to be emotional over the loss of his family was not important.

But now, with Whitestone the home to so many broken families after the rebellion against the Briarwoods and the refugees from Emon, perhaps he should think about it.

But now, after seeing the cruel way in which Tiberius was killed in a show of power like his own family, perhaps he should consider it.

But now, in the midst of a war that could spell the end of mankind, it might be the last chance Percival ever gets.

His trembling fingertips skirt over the portrait of his parents and he takes a sharp breath in, the tears beginning to spill over his lashes. The pencil likenesses aren’t perfect, but they are all he has left. His father looks regal and firm; his mother looks beautiful and intelligent. She always had said that Percy had gotten all of her brains. They both wear a small smile in the portrait, like they know something that he doesn’t, and Percival gives a weak sob.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the silence of the library, not sure what else to say. “I’m so sorry…”

His fingertips trail over to his older brother Julius, who he had always butted heads with, to his older sister Vesper, who had wound him up the bend with her mothering. Julius looks so much like their father, ready to take on the mantle of head of the de Rolo family. Vesper is wearing a small, kind smile and Percival’s heart tugs sharply. Had he known what little time they had left, perhaps he wouldn’t have been such a stubborn brat around them.

He glosses over his own portrait mostly. He’s maybe 15 or 16 in the sketch, his hair dark by the shading, rather than the grey-white shades that it now is. But other than that, he looks mainly the same. His round glasses perched on his nose, eyes piercing and curious. But in this portrait, there a looseness to him. He doesn’t look as tense as the individual Percy sees in the mirror.

As he moves to touch the sketches of the twins, Oliver and Whitney, he hears a slight sound and twitches, turning sharply to the door.

There is a familiar silhouette in the doorway; long, braided hair and fine, half-elven features.

“Vex’ahlia,” he manages, his voice cracking sharply as he hopes that she will not notice the tear-stains on his cheeks. But no luck there, he knows that her keen eyesight will give him away immediately.

“Percy?” she asks, stepping quietly into the room and the lamp that Percival had lit upon entering illuminates her. She looks tired, her hair mussed and she’s still wearing her sleep clothes, with a robe haphazardly thrown over her shoulders. “What are you doing here? It’s still several hours before dawn?”

There’s a part of him that wants to tell her to leave, that wants to slam _Ancestral Families of Whitestone_ closed so that she knows nothing, there’s a part that desperately wants to lie.

But he has lived with Vex for long enough to know that she will see through him.

“Reminiscing,” is all he says instead and unhelpfully, his voice does crack once more. In the low light, he can barely make out the twist of concern on her features but Vex comes over, glancing quickly down at the book on the table.

“Oh, Percy,” she says, softly and places her hand on top over his own trembling one on the page.

“I, you know, I haven’t ever really mourned them? For so long I was so focused on revenge that mourning my family was almost second. But now, in the midst of this war…” he trails off, his eyes fixed on the page as he shifts their joined hands over to the image of Ludwig, his youngest brother. “Now I’m starting to realise I’m running out of chances.”

There is silence for a long moment and then Vex pulls away. A deep part of Percival’s mind is upset and confused by this but seconds later, he realises she’s just pulling a chair over.

“Tell me about them,” she says tenderly, resting her fingers on his arm.

“I guess I never really appreciated them,” he starts, focusing on the portraits of his family. “You know how siblings can be. All they ever did was get on my nerves. Cassandra still does, I suppose.” He gives a weak laugh, touching the pencil drawing of her. She’s so young in the image, maybe 10 years old at most, her eyes bright and playful. “But I loved them. They were family.” There are tears streaking down his face again now and he feels Vex take his hand.

“You had six siblings right?” she asks, her voice inviting but not pushing at all.

“Yes. I was the third eldest. Julius and Vesper were older than me,” And as he speaks, he points out them on the page. “Then, Whitney and Oliver, Ludwig and then Cassandra. And, and being here, being home, it reminds me of all of them. It reminds me of playing when we were children, it reminds me of arguments and petty sibling disagreements and… And it reminds me of the night I lost them.” Percival’s voice cracks again. “You’ve lost family before, you know how it feels.”

“I do, but it… Vax and I lost our mother, yes, but we still had each other. We always had each other. You have been alone for so long, Percy. I cannot begin to understand how much it hurt to have what happened to you happen,” Vex says, squeezing his hand gently. “You have us now, but that doesn’t make up for what happened.” He takes a moment to rub his eyes under his glasses, sniffling a little.

“I just, I miss them, Vex’ahlia. It’s been so busy that I haven’t really had time to miss them and… It hurts.” Vex’s arm slides around his shoulders and she draws him close into a warm hug. Percival buries his face into her shoulder, his jaw clenched as he tries to fight back the tears.

“It’s okay, darling, you’re allow to miss them,” she murmurs right into his ear, rubbing her hand up and down his back. “You don’t have to pretend. It’s okay, dear.” He gives a weak sob and she gently rocks him. And for a moment, Percy allows himself a moment of weakness. Hiding in Vex’s embrace, he begins to cry now, silently, his entire body shaking and she continues to murmur softly to him. Only a few moments pass before he pulls himself together and leans back slightly. Then Vex reaches up and wipes the tears from his face with her fingertips.

“Better?” She asks, giving a him a smile. Percy nods, managing a partial smile in return.

“Thank you. For, you know, everything,” he murmurs, adjusting his glasses slightly.

“You don’t have to thank me, Percy.” She presses a kiss to his cheek. “Come on, darling. We need to rest; there is Marquet tomorrow.” He nods, sniffling as he moves away from Vex who gets up and she closes the book carefully. He stands up and pauses for a second, looking over the book slowly.

“Go rest, Percy,” Vex encourages, but she takes his arm, gently leading him back out of the library. Without questioning anything, she leads him back to his room and opens the door. “Sleep well.” He steps up, inside door and then pauses.

“Vex’ahlia?” he asks as she turns to walk away down the corridor.

“Yes, darling?” she stops, turning back to him.

“Please, um, don’t tell anyone else about this. I don’t… I don’t want them to know.” And Vex gives him a small smile and nods.

“It’s not something you should be ashamed of, Percy. But, of course, dear. It’s our secret.” She winks at him and Percy gives a weak smile.

“Thank you.” And as Vex’ahlia heads into her own room, Percy moves into his own, stepping over to the window. He smiles, looking up towards the stars glistening in the sky. He feels a little better now, strangely. A weight has been lifted from his shoulders and he feels for the first time in long time, a little more comfortable in himself. Perhaps he is on the way to dying a better person than he is now. He may be broken, but there are at least steps in the right direction.


End file.
